


Better This Way

by drugsandcaandy



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, Hurt No Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24140665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drugsandcaandy/pseuds/drugsandcaandy
Summary: He’s breaking Alex’s heart. He knows it. He’s breaking his own right along with it.The last night at the lake house, from Henry's POV.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 80





	Better This Way

He feels entirely too much. 

Throughout this entire... _ thing _ \--whatever it is he and Alex are doing-- he’s managed to keep emotions at bay. He likes Alex. He likes what they do. He doesn’t need to feel anything.

But he does. Of course he does. And it’s overwhelming. It feels like a knife in his chest, and everything Alex does twists it deeper-- every offhanded affectionate gesture, every laugh, every time he calls Henry  _ baby  _ and  _ sweetheart _ . 

For god’s sake, Alex took him to Texas. Henry met his dad. It’s all too intimate. More than he should be allowed.

And when Alex all but professes his undying love for Henry in the middle of the night, everything snaps. He can’t do this. He can’t feel this. And so he does what he does best- he avoids it. He ducks out of Alex’s arms and swims to the dock. The few seconds he’s underwater deafen everything. He wants to scream. He never meant for it to get this bad. 

He comes back up and spits out lake water. Alex laughs, but it’s a hollow sound. Forced. It hurts to hear. Twists the knife. 

“Christ,” he says, keeping his voice steady, slapping at a bug. “What are these infernal creatures?” 

“Mosquitos.” 

“They’re awful.” He slaps another one off his arm. “I’m going to catch an exotic plague.” 

Half of his brain is shouting at him to shut up, to stop making stupid jokes about mosquitos and kiss Alex again and tell him everything. The other half is telling him that’s an absolutely awful idea. If he doesn’t acknowledge his feelings, they don’t exist. And they can’t exist. He won’t survive it. 

He’s breaking Alex’s heart. He knows it. He’s breaking his own right along with it. 

“I’m...sorry?” Alex says, raising an eyebrow. 

“I just meant to say, you know, Phillip is the heir and I’m the spare, and if that nervy bastard has a heart attack at thirty-five and I’ve got malaria, whither the spare?” 

Maybe he will get malaria. It would be easier than this. 

Alex laughs again. It’s so forced. The knife twists. 

He’s watching his last shot to tell Alex everything disappear. He pulls himself out of the water and up on to the dock. He can’t breathe. His thoughts are racing. 

“At any rate, I’m knackered.” The voice he hears isn’t his own. It’s too cheery, too polished. A farce. A shield. One he knows all too well. One he hasn’t used with Alex since before New Year’s. He pulls on his shorts, hoping it’s dark enough Alex won’t be able to see him shaking. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll go to bed.”

Alex says nothing. Henry can’t breathe. 

He walks down the dock, leaving Alex in the water. For the first time all night. He feels nothing but numb.

Good. Numb is easy. Numb is safe. 

Or at the very least, it’s familiar. Is there a difference? He doesn’t know anymore. 

He gets back to their room and changes into his pajamas, not even bothering to shower. He curls up in his bunk, his back turned. He doesn’t want to see Alex come in.

*

He wakes up before sunrise. Alex is still asleep, lying on his back, his hair a mess. Henry wants nothing more than to curl up next to him. To lie in Alex’s arms one last time. To run his hands through Alex’s hair, to kiss him, to hear Alex say  _ sweetheart _ one last time. 

He makes his bed and walks out to the kitchen. He can’t do this with Alex  _ right there.  _

He texts Shaan. He doesn’t know what else to do. 

_ Alex, _ he writes on a scrap of paper, his hand shaking,  _ Had to go early for a family matter.  _ A lie, but what does it matter? It’s all a lie. He remembers the last true thing he said to Alex.  _ You carry too much.  _

He ends the note  _ thank you for everything  _ and grabs his luggage. 

*

The plane ride home is agony. He wonders how Alex will react when he wakes up. Will he be angry? Will he try to call Henry? Will he care? 

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He won’t ever know, and that’s the way it has to be. It’ll stop hurting eventually. He’ll move on, and so will Alex. Maybe he’ll date Nora again. It’ll be good. Good for his image, good for the press, good for the campaign. Good in a way Henry will never be able to be. 

No one questions why he’s back early. He catches a worried glance from Bea on his way to his room, but ignores it. She knows too much as it is. 

He’ll learn to hide again. He did it for years. He can do it again. He  _ has  _ to.

But it’s so much harder now that he knows exactly what Alex tastes like, smells like, feels like. It’s so much harder to pretend he doesn’t feel when every time he closes his eyes he sees Alex. 

He doesn’t look at Alex’s texts. He deletes their emails. It’s better this way. 

He is in love with Alexander Claremont-Diaz, and it will most certainly be the death of him.

**Author's Note:**

> big big thanks to eva for urging me on with hilarious comments and notes about yearning. ellen said it's my turn on the brain cell tho >:-(


End file.
